


Crashing Over Us

by neurotrophicfactors



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Beach Episode, Character Study, Fluff, M/M, No Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 22:04:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11746083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neurotrophicfactors/pseuds/neurotrophicfactors
Summary: It’s the first time Akira has been to the beach since his alleged assault. He wonders if the ocean will even recognize the embittered teenager-not-teenager he has become.





	Crashing Over Us

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't have a PS3 or PS4 and have magically managed not to expose myself to too many spoilers as I make my way through a YouTube recording of the game, but I already know that I love these two. This was heavily inspired by the song Waves by the Dear Hunter, except way less angsty. What's a beta?

The first time Kurusu Akira saw the ocean, he fell in love. He kicked off his sandals and sprinted on too-long legs to the water, burning his feet on the sand until it gave way to damp earth that soothed his soles. At the water’s edge he fell to his knees as if in benediction and lowered his hands to cup it in his palms. It was cool to the touch, but not jarringly so, and he raised it to his lips, heedless of his mother’s cries not to drink it. With a loud slurp, he drew the water into his mouth without swallowing—just tasting the salt of it on his tongue. That was all he wanted: a kiss to seal their marriage, and then he spat the water back into the ocean, laughing, and stood to meet the waves. Their first dance.

His life was simpler then. He was a child and the world was his oyster. No one had told him yet that he would have to take the knife to pry it open himself.

Now Akira is sixteen: too old to be considered a child but not old enough to be legally recognized as an adult. He is in a state of transition—legs longer than ever before, but a body growing to match. His voice deepened and hair growing coarse and thick in awkward places. Shoulders broadening and lean muscle developing in his chest and arms, thighs and calves. He knows the taste of lip-gloss from another mouth and how it feels to run his hand from a soft waist to a curved hip, but longs to know how it feels to trail his lips along the ridge of an Adam’s apple and press a hard chest against his own. He dreams of touches more intimate than those experience has given him and on those nights, wakes flushed and panting. In that regard, his has been an average adolescence.

Perhaps if that had been the extent of his metamorphosis, Akira would feel like the teenager he is. Instead he was prosecuted under false pretenses and shipped off to Tokyo where he discovered the Metaverse and Persona, and with them, the power to change men’s hearts. Change that could only occur after Akira had traversed the dark territory of their psyches and mapped out their twisted forms. 

His mother always said he couldn’t leave well enough alone. His father called it a saviour complex. Akira didn’t care if there was a name for how he was; he refused to be a bystander. Still, it hurt when even his parents didn’t believe him over the course of the litigation. Every time he tried to insist that he had never laid a hand on the man, they exchanged meaningful glances like remembered bruises and bloody noses, calls home from Akira’s elementary school. They’d thought Akira had grown out of his hero phase in middle school, they said, as if altruism was a childish quality to mature past. What would have taken root in its place, Akira wonders? Acceptance or maybe even apathy?

He had always believed in justice. It wasn’t until his parents shunted him off on a man named Sakura Sojiro that Akira began to dream of rebellion.

A gull cries overhead, bringing Akira back to the present. He is at another beach, but the ocean is the same. Akira is not. The summer breeze is warm, tickling the fine hairs on his arms as he stands with his hands on his hips, and he feels the sun on his shoulders like a slow-heating brand; later, he knows he will find his skin pink and tender with sunburn. The water glimmers—almost blindingly so—and the waves call to him with a rasping voice as they lap against the shore, beckoning him closer. When he inhales, he smells salt and decaying marine life.

It’s the first time Akira has been to the beach since his alleged assault. He wonders if the ocean will even recognize the embittered teenager-not-teenager he has become.

“You look troubled. Aren’t you going to swim?”

Yusuke’s voice is a drop of water landing in a tranquil pool; clear and deep, but smooth. It is a welcome sound and Akira turns toward it, squinting slightly to make out his friend’s features without his glasses. Yusuke is sitting on his towel beneath a beach umbrella, still wearing a lightweight hoodie over his board shorts—a wise choice, Akira thinks as his eyes linger on a pale collarbone, if not a slightly disappointing one. Though the details are indistinct, Akira can tell that Yusuke’s eyes are trained on him and that his expression is one of mild curiosity. Distantly, he hears the sound of their friends’ laughter as they splash around in the ocean.

“Just thinking,” Akira replies. Yusuke watches him silently, as he so often does, and Akira realizes that he is waiting for elaboration. “A lot has changed.” _I have changed_ , he doesn’t say.

Yusuke isn’t good at people—he tends to miss social cues, both those conveyed verbally and through body language—but he can also be stunningly perceptive at times. He closes his eyes now and hums thoughtfully, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he crosses one ankle over the other.

“You work part-time in a flower shop, yes?” he says.

Akira frowns, blinking in confusion. “Yes?”

“Have you learned much about plants?”

Somewhere behind them, Ryuji yowls with pain and the girls shriek their amusement. More seagulls cry and the waves continue their rhythmic roaring as they fold in on themselves in the shallows. Akira catches his lower lip between his teeth and chews it absently.

“I think so.” He’s certainly learned a lot about different types of plants and how to care for them. For some reason, it feels like a trick question.

“There is a category of plants called pyrophytes that are resistant to fire,” Yusuke tells him. He opens his eyes and cocks his head as he stares up at Akira placidly. “While the rest of the vegetation burns in the flames, they remain standing. Among the pyrophytes there are also _pyrophiles_ , which must pass through fire in order to grow and flourish, like a phoenix rising from the ashes.”

The corner of Akira’s mouth twitches and he licks his lips to resist the pull of muscle. “Are you saying I’m like a pyrophile?”

Akira has always been fond of Yusuke’s eyes; like dark moons in a reverse night sky, graphite on cream. It’s all too easy to become tidally locked with them. “I’m saying that sometimes beautiful things are born from disaster.”

Akira can resist no longer and the grin spreads wide across his mouth. The heat of the sun is meagre in comparison to the tiny inferno that has sprung to life within his chest. “I could say the same to you,” he replies.

“I—” Yusuke blinks with surprise, and then Akira sees the dots connect. Yusuke’s answering smile is brilliant. “I suppose you are correct.” A pretty flush blooms to the surface of his skin.

Akira’s fingertips prickle with the need to touch and he bends forward with an outstretched hand, palm up. “The others are still playing in the water. Want to help me hide their sandals?” His grin turns mischievous and Yusuke raises his eyebrows bemusedly.

“No.” He takes Akira’s hand and lets himself be pulled to his feet anyway. “But I’ll keep watch for you so that I can claim plausible deniability.”

Yusuke’s hands are sharp-boned and long-fingered. Dainty and less soft than one would expect from looking at them; the consequence of too many washes and years of abuse from turpentine. Akira’s hold lingers and, unthinkingly, he gives Yusuke’s hand a gentle squeeze before he releases it. Yusuke’s fingers follow his briefly to prolong the contact.

As promised, Yusuke stands vigilant as Akira gathers their friends’ sandals. He buries them in the sand beneath their towels and beach chairs, grit pushing beneath his fingernails as he works. When he’s finished, Akira pats the warm sand and stands up, brushing away the particles that cling to his skin.

“Come swimming with me,” he says to Yusuke.

Yusuke glances between him and the ocean contemplatively. After a moment of pause, he clicks his tongue. “Very well; if you insist.”

Yusuke turns his back to Akira as he unzips his hoodie. Akira watches the movement of his exposed shoulder-blades furtively as he ducks under the lip of the umbrella to discard the shirt on his towel, making a half-hearted attempt at folding it. Wonders how it would feel to count the points of Yusuke’s vertebrae with his fingers as they push through his skin. _Control your dick_ , Akira thinks to himself firmly.

Then Yusuke is turning to him with a calm smile and saying, “Lead the way.”

Side by side, they cross yielding sand to the flattened shoreline to water washing at their ankles as they step gingerly on the line of seashells caught in the pull of the tide. Their friends have taken refuge on a distant sandbar, but Yusuke is watching the waves as they crest against his shins, then knees, then thighs. And Akira is watching Yusuke.

The water is pleasantly cool, cutting through the summer heat without making Akira shiver. When it reaches Yusuke’s hips, he stops and stares holes into the ocean. Akira pauses with him, frowning, but before he can ask what troubles his friend, the taller boy reaches down to cup the water in his palms and bring it to his mouth. Eyes closed, runaway droplets escape from between his fingers and down his forearms to drip from his elbows like glittering jewels. Akira can’t tear his eyes away. A childhood memory breaches and Akira wonders if this is a very-delayed indirect kiss.

Yusuke lowers his hands and opens his eyes, having the presence of mind to look a little sheepish when he catches Akira’s gaze. His lips are wet. Akira reaches for Yusuke’s hand and steps forward to taste the ocean.

**Author's Note:**

> *confetti* Come talk to me! Don't tell me what a beta is. I want to keep the mystery alive. (I know what a beta is, I'm just being facetious.) Word up to anyone who catches my subtle Critical Role reference.
> 
> And yes, that's a kiss at the very end. :')


End file.
